


Absolutely Free

by marauder_in_warblerland



Series: Klaine Advent Challenge 2014 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauder_in_warblerland/pseuds/marauder_in_warblerland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is having a truly awful day, that is until a cute sign-holder (or two) makes him an offer he can't refuse. Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely Free

“Lady, either move or give the legs to someone who will actually use them.” 

Kurt thought that he’d muttered under his breath, but from the dirty look the woman in front of him sends his way, he might have been less subtle. She stalks away and, for a second, Kurt feels a twinge of remorse. On any other day, he might have even apologized, but today, generosity doesn’t stand a chance.

He can’t explain what it is that has him glaring at small children and growling at stupid lampposts, but he’s been down for days. He hasn’t told anyone yet, not even Rachel, mostly because he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time with a pointless funk. What business does he have feeling like crap, really?

As he approaches the corner of West Broadway and Park, Kurt winds his way past earpiece talkers and stroller runners, his eyes trained squarely on the ground. So far, the only way he’s managed to lower his own irritation at the world is to stop looking at other people. Strangers’ shoes might be hideous, but he can only get so apoplectic about tube socks and clogs. Just past the intersection, a toddler starts screaming and pointing at a store window, his tiny lungs heaving with anger. As Kurt maneuvers around the panicking family, he sighs almost audibly into his scarf.

He has zero business feeling like shit. That pissed off kid, throwing a tantrum over some window display, has more reason for rage than he does. At least the kid probably saw something pretty that he could never have. Kurt, he has, well . . .  he’s fine. He might not have everything that he’s even written on a bucket list, but who does at 25?

As Kurt turns onto Barclay Street, packed as it is with the noon rush, he takes a grudging account of his own blessed life. He has day job that he doesn’t hate at Neiman Marcus, and a nighttime gig in an off-off Broadway production of a new show by a brilliant new savant straight out of high school. He’s exhausted, but happy, usually, when he’s being fully rational. He has his friends and his dad and a lovely stepmother who won’t stop sending him links to cat videos, and he loves them all to death. If he hasn’t had a date in a few weeks, that’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, and having a dry spell certainly hasn’t stopped Rachel from being irritatingly perky. She practically communes with the bluebirds most mornings, and that’s before she’s had coffee.

This stupid ache in his gut, just below his sternum, might not know any better, but  _he doesn’t need a boyfriend to be happy,_  Kurt thinks as he rounds the corner toward the Aroma Espresso Bar. On any given day, he might need a great many things, but a steady sweetie isn’t one of them. Today, for example, he needs a sandwich, and ice cream, and stronger coffee, and —-

“Free hugs?”

On his right, Kurt hears a voice that, if possible, sounds as dead as he feels. “Anybody . . .?” the voice asks.

On the far edge of the sidewalk, Kurt sees a guy in a wheelchair with a sign propped on his lap, and a morose grimace on his face. The cheery exclamation points on his sign offering “HUGS! ABSOLUTELY FREE!” somehow makes its holder look even more peeved. For a second, he worries that the guy might have heard his line about “working legs,” but that’s impossible, unless he also has bionic ears. As he passes, Kurt averts his eyes and stares a determined hole into the sidewalk. That guy might need a hug most of all, but he isn’t getting it from Kurt. Kurt isn’t that desperate. He’s hungry, tired, and ready to drop-kick slow-walkers off of the Empire State Building, but he isn’t desperate enough to beg for love from strangers.

 _What would possess someone to offer intimate contact with random New Yorkers?_  Kurt wonders, pulling his scarf tighter against the cold. Get the wrong hugee and bed bugs would be the least of his worries. He almost hopes that the guy gets something non-contagious out of it too, just to make the risk worthwhile.  _Maybe,_  he thinks, _the guy’s some kind of sexual anomaly who gets off from touching hands_ — not that Kurt’s judging, but he usually appreciates dinner and a movie first.

Kurt laughs under his breath, the first time he’s smiled in days, and that’s when he notices— at some point in the last minute, he’d turned around and started walking back toward the corner. It’s completely irrational, but apparently some part of his mind really wants a hug. Not only that, but some part of his brain wants a hug from a random grump of a guy who . . . isn’t even there anymore.

Back at the corner, Kurt sees the sign, but someone else is holding it and its new holder— Kurt sucks in a breath— there aren’t words for the difference. Where the other guy, the sad one, might have been cute if he’d cracked a smile, this man is radiant. Every hair sits perfectly placed in a precise wave that reminds Kurt of the heartthrob from Hairspray, and his eyes are positively glowing with earnest joy. Kurt could almost believe that this man really wants to hug every single living being in New York City simply because it’s the decent thing to do. Even his coat matches the sweater peeking out from underneath, and in a city full of beauty school dropouts, that might be the biggest miracle of all.

As Kurt watches, the man raises one hand, and wiggles his fingers in a childish sort of greeting. That’s when Kurt realizes that the man is waving . . . at him. Of course he is. What else does Kurt expect, as the only man standing stock-still and staring at a stranger?

The man shakes his sign with a little smile that says, “how about it sailor?” and Kurt ducks his head to hide a blush. He has to go over there now and hug a gorgeous man. That, in and of itself, is not a problem, but usually he at least  _tries_  to play it cool. Now, cool is shot to hell, so he makes his way to the side of the sidewalk, his hands shoved into the pockets of his winter coat.

When he gets within speaking distance, the other man stands up even taller, straightening his back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He seems almost excited. Kurt wonders how many people have actually taken him up on his offer.

Kurt opens his mouth and immediately regrets it. “You—you’re not the same guy who was here before, right?” he asks.  _Oh, well done_ , Kurt thinks.  _Now he thinks you’re rude and kinda dim._

Kurt gets ready to speed-walk in the other direction, but the other man only purses his lips, as though he’d been asked a legitimate question. “You must mean Artie,” he says, finally. “He was just filling in while I ran to the bathroom. I like spending time out here on my lunch break, with my sign. It's nice to give something back, but Artie . . . ”

“It isn’t really his thing?” Kurt finishes, and the other man laughs, his eyes sparking in the cold.

“That’s an understatement,” the guy says, leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “He hates it. I can’t blame him though. People keep thinking he’s a beggar and leaving money on his lap. The last time a woman tried, he just about took off her hand.” He shrugs and Kurt tries to smile back. 

“Poor guy.”

“Yeah.” The man nods, glancing down at his feet, and they lapse into an awkward silence. In any other situation they would just be two men having a nice conversation about awful New Yorkers, but now there’s this sign between them, and Kurt feels it mocking him, like a dare.

“So, how do we do this?” he asks, nodding his head toward the sign. “Should we start at opposite ends of the block and run in slow motion?”

This time the man ducks his head, and Kurt files his adorable, awkward little smile away for later consideration. “If you want,” the man says, peeking up through his eyelashes, “but it could get complicated. How would you feel about starting things off a little more basic?”

“That could be nice too.” Kurt catches the guy’s eye and suddenly, this hug thing doesn’t feel so scary anymore. As they smile, two unmoving spots on a busy street, all the stops and starts suddenly feel like lines in a play that only they’ve realized has begun. “Could you tell me your name, first?” Kurt asks.

“Of course,” the man grins, holding out his gloved hand. “I’m Blaine, and you are?”

“Kurt, Kurt Hummel.” Oh god, his voice hasn’t sounded that high in years.

Blaine nods, all seriousness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kurt Hummel. Now,” he takes a step back and sets his sign to the side, “I’m going to open my arms and you can come in for a hug. The rest is entirely up to you. Okay?”

Blaine cocks his head, hands spread wide, and before he can think it through, Kurt finds himself stepping into Blaine’s open arms. For a second, he just breathes into the embrace. They breathe, their chests rising and falling just out of sync, and in a deep sigh, the ache in Kurt’s stomach dribbles away into nothing. He can’t tell if it’s the weight of Blaine’s arms or the slight scent of sandalwood and raspberry on his skin, but Kurt can’t remember the last time a hug from a stranger made him feel so . . . at home.

After one breath or ten, Kurt can hardly tell, Blaine’s back shivers under his hands. Kurt steps back, eyes narrow with concern. “Are you cold?” he asks, peering into Blaine’s surprised face. “I thought you said that you just went inside! When’s the last time you drank something warm?”

“I—I’m not sure?” His hands still rest lightly on Kurt’s waist, as though that’s their logical home, and Kurt really doesn’t want them to move, but he also doesn’t want Blaine to up and die of hypothermia.

“Well then, that’s it,” he announces, allowing his hands to return to his pockets. “I got a hug and you’re getting coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

Blaine just stares at him, as though he’s taken some turn that Blaine doesn’t know how to follow.

Kurt tries again. “Would you like some coffee?” he asks, this time a little slower and jerk of his head towards the Espresso Bar. “I’d be happy to bring it back here, as a thank you for the hug.” As he offers, he tries show in his eyes that this isn’t just something he feels like he needs to do to be a good guy. This is something that he wants to do. He isn’t entirely sure why, but he needs to buy Blaine something warm and bring it back, if only so that this moment won’t end before he’s ready. If Blaine wants, Kurt needs to be able to say that he’s coming right back.

Something in Kurt’s eyes must have made sense, because Blaine nods. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, “but I love coffee. Black?”

“Coming right up.” Kurt grins. He feels his nose crinkling in an undignified sort of joy as he turns toward the coffee shop, but he doesn’t care. In front of him, a couple walks lazily in time, talking up the entire breadth of the sidewalk with the spread of their clasped hands, and Kurt follows slowly behind. There’s no hurry, and they look so happy. So, he stares up at the buildings against the sharp blue sky and breathes in the city one step at a time.


End file.
